


your needs and my needs they line up like the sun and the moon; it takes an eclipse baby

by kwritten



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Choking, F/M, Kink Negotiation, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/pseuds/kwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Raven negotiate Raven's sexual needs that grow darker and more dangerous for them both. (Raven topping from the bottom; several kinks discussed.)</p><p> </p><p>  <i>And right there, in the middle of camp, he laughs, leans back and laughs loud enough so that people turn to stare, and then dips his head back down to hers, and with his lips on her lips, he pulls until she moans and she finds she doesn’t care that people are watching because all they’ll see is a kiss and what’s a kiss to them when she’s safe in his strong hands?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	your needs and my needs they line up like the sun and the moon; it takes an eclipse baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/gifts), [captaindove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaindove/gifts).



> WARNING: potential triggers for discussions of Raven in bondage
> 
> a/n: I haven't seen s2 and so while I've kept Raven's injury, this story does not directly address any possible triggers (for the characters or readers) for events that happen in s2
> 
> written for captaindove for their discussion of headcanon over on tumblr and for semele because I (obvs) am not able to say no to my sis when she wants something terrible

The first time, he stumbles. 

He’s tired, it’s been a long day, and there she is in their tent and he stumbles, his hands slip, they grip too hard in a place he shouldn’t, and she hisses with pleasure that he reads as pain until she whispers, “Again.”

And it isn’t a question, it’s a demand. 

In the beginning, she would ask, hesitant, hopeful, her fingers fleeting even if strong and determined. As if she was afraid to take what she wanted, as if afraid that he would say no. 

_He says no once, early, he’s too tired to move and O hadn’t checked in when she said she would and Raven is in his tent, hungry for him and he says no so softly she almost doesn’t hear. Except that her lips are on his jaw and his lips graze her ear because he’s never said no to her before, his body doesn’t know how to, he’s never gone through the effort of training it to deny her anything. He says ‘no’ and stiffens because it doesn’t feel right, except all he wants to do is fall into bed and worry and that feels wrong too – shouldn’t he want this? He says ‘no’ and she looks up at him with her wide eyes and steps away. He reaches out to her, his hands hungry for her skin, everything inside of him wanting to whisper _sorry sorry sorry_ or something closer to _yes_ that doesn’t feel like ‘no’ because her face, her face. He says ‘no’ and she looks up at him and watches him curiously when she takes his outstretched hands and leads him to the cot, lying down on her side and pulling him with her. He says ‘no’ and she tucks him into her body like a glove and he sleeps with her arms wrapped around his waist and his back pressed into her warmth. He says ‘no’ and it doesn’t break her and he doesn’t like to think that it’s because people have been telling her ‘no’ in one way or another her whole life. _

 

The first time, he stumbles. 

They’re both tired from a long, muddy day, and his hands reach up to cup her face the way he likes to hold her as if she will break into dust if he grips too tightly and fly away if his hands aren’t there to remind her to stay and he stumbles and his grip tightens a bit lower than he was reaching and it feels like a lightning rod traveling up her spine and she hisses with pleasure she knows he read as pain until she whispers, “Again.”

And it isn’t a question, it’s a demand. 

In the beginning, she would ask, hesitant, hopeful, her fingers skating over his skin and only teasing at their strength. She was afraid to take what she wanted, afraid that he would laugh. 

_He laughs once, early on. She’s in the process of taking her shirt off and she can hear him giggling. The same giggle that he does when Octavia pinches him in that super secret spot that she guesses is somewhere below and behind his right ribcage. He laughs and she stiffens, her shirt halfway off, and considers putting it back on, walking out of the tent, never coming back. But at that point, it’s easier to just pull her shirt off and glare at him than try to get it back over the other side of her elbows. He laughs and she’s shirtless and that’s when she realizes that he’s fallen over his own shoes and is sprawled out on the ground at her feet, his pants around his knees and one shoe in his hand as he giggles and looks up at her helplessly. He laughs and it isn’t at her and it’s never at her and there are moments when she still shies back, pulls away, afraid that he’ll laugh or tell someone else about how disgusting and pathetic she is, but he doesn’t. He laughs and she laughs back, straddles his waist there on the ground and kisses him and can’t say thank you because he wouldn’t understand and she hopes that’s the one thing she’ll never have to explain to him. He laughs and she laughs and she kisses him and he reaches up and tickles her under her ribs and she’s not even ticklish but she pretends to be because laughter is the sort of thing that she could get used to, even if that’s the most fucking frightening part of all of this._

 

The first time, he stumbles, and his hands grip too hard and it feels like a release and so she says, “Again.”

The first time, he stiffens and hesitates, his hands yearning to take it all back and turn back time. The first time, she wants to put a question mark where she’s never had to before and her heart is beating so hard in her chest she can taste it. 

The first time, he’s inside of her and her good leg is wrapped around his waist and she whispers, “Again” and there’s no doubt in their mind what she means and it could be terrifying but it feels right. The first time, she lifts his hand to her throat and she whispers, “Again” as she tips her head back and closes her eyes and digs her fingernails into his ass as she pulls him closer, deeper, always wanting _more more more_ and he tightens his grip and lowers his head so that he can hear her shallow breath as she lets go. 

And it feels like ecstasy and it feels like being whole and when his hand is replaced with his lips, apologizing in silence for something she needed, she laughs. 

 

The first time he touches her, his hand is at her throat and her skin is soft beneath his fingertips and he could kill her, if he wanted, and she’s looking at him with eyes that taunt him because there’s already a knife in her hand grazing his skin. After the first time, he dreams of that day, her charging up to him in a field of green, but this time when he puts his hand to her throat she closes her eyes in ecstasy and moans his name, he wakes up hard and sweating. After the first time, he dreams of his hands red with blood and her eyes rolling up in her head, a knife in her hand, and he wakes up shaking and wanting. 

 

_Her fingers are busy, busy, busy in his hair and trailing up his spine and coaxing him this way and that and he can’t focus so he grabs one, brings it to his lips and kisses the flesh of her wrist softly before stretching their arms above her head, pinning that wandering head to the ground. She smiles at him and it is open, so wide open, her eyes haunted they reach back so much further than he thought possible, and she reaches up to slide her other hand beneath them so that he is holding both, his fingers encircling her thin wrists as if they were made to hold her. He likes to think that he was made to hold her, she seems to like being held, and he likes to do what she likes. In the second after she says, “Don’t let go,” her eyes fixed steadily on his, she tries to break free and he’s forced to lean more pressure into that arm, that hand, that’s keeping her down. She gasps up at him and smiles and when he kisses her, he tastes salt from her tears. When she comes her body shudders and she feels even more wild, pinned beneath him and held still, than she ever has before. When she comes she breathes _thank you_ into the still air around them and it feels to him like a penance. _

 

The first time he touches her, his hand is at her throat and he wouldn’t kill her, wouldn’t want to, and she smirks at his terrified eyes because she’s already got a knife at his neck ready to prove him wrong. After the first time, she dreams of that day, her charging up to him in a black pit, but this time when he puts his hand to her throat she’s already pulling him forward by the collar of his shirt and his lips are on hers as if they belonged there, she wakes up wet and sweating. After the first time, she dreams of her hands red with blood and he washes them as they stand naked in a freezing river, his hands guiding hers and wiping them clean, and she wakes up shaking and wanting. 

 

_She doesn’t like public displays of any kind, prefers to keep her life as private as possible, but he reaches for her no matter the circumstances and so she begins to learn when he needs it and typically when he’s been out on a scouting mission and is two days late checking in he needs it (and hell, she needs it too but never tell him that). She doesn’t run because she doesn’t run, but she is waiting and she does let him pull her into a hug that feels like relief and lets him give her a kiss that feels like homecoming even if she stayed perfectly still. And right there, in the middle of camp, he slides his hand up the back of her neck and grips her hair with his fingers and gives a little tug that makes her smile against his lips and whisper, “Harder.” And right there, in the middle of camp, he laughs, leans back and laughs loud enough so that people turn to stare, and then dips his head back down to hers, and with his lips on her lips, he pulls until she moans and she finds she doesn’t care that people are watching because all they’ll see is a kiss and what’s a kiss to them when she’s safe in his strong hands?_

 

The first time, he stumbles and she hisses, “Again” in that voice that he’s learned to anticipate and so he closes his palm and fingers around her throat and makes a fist until she comes in his arms and it isn’t a surprise, it feels like they’ve been dancing around this for months. He remembers the first time he bit a little too hard and didn’t have room to apologize because she was already gasping for more. He remembers the first time he spanked her ass playfully as she walked away from him and the way she raised her eyebrows at him that said _later_ and meant it. He remembers a girl with fire in her eyes and pain coming off of her in waves, who took her hair down as if that would make her look vulnerable but all it did was prove how strong she could be, shirtless and demanding. The first time, it’s an accident and the second time it’s at her request and he can’t deny her anything. 

Let the history books show that there was a man who couldn’t say no and he loved a wild thing. 

 

 

The first time, he stumbles and she begs, “Again” in a voice that she’s mastered to hide how needy she feels and when he slides his rough skin against hers and puts pressure on her windpipe she feels free to the point of distraction and it isn’t a surprise, it feels like they’ve been dancing around the truth for months and she’s been waiting to share this with someone her whole life. She remembers a mother who looked away whenever she was near. She remembers a boy who couldn’t match her fire and shamed her for it, needing a deer when she’d always been a lion. She remembers a lifetime of floating free among the stars and desperately seeking the freedom to be tied down. She remembers a boy claiming he didn’t care, but holding her in his strong hands as if she was the most fragile thing he’d ever held. The first time, it’s an accident but it feels like what she’s been waiting for and the second time she hopes he loves her enough to understand. 

Let the poets remember that there was a woman so strong she needed a man who would know she didn’t need tamed. 

 

 

The first time, he stumbles and she demands and he obeys she comes with his hand wrapped around her throat and it feels like being set free. 

The first time, she comes with a great shuddering sob and in the aftermath she finds herself draped over his lap like a child, his voice cooing sweet nothings in her ear as he holds her and pets her and kisses her as if she were delicate, as if she were fragile, as if he could break her with his hands (when they both know that it is his words that could do the most damage if damage was what he longed to wrought) and she kisses him softly because he is soft even if she’s as sharp as steel. 

He holds her close and rocks her gently and she lets him because nothing gives him comfort like giving comfort.

She holds him as he holds her because he’s comfort and home and safety and maybe she pushed him too hard but being in his hands makes her feel so damn _needy_ and as it turns out she needs more every day. 

He should never have said ‘yes’ to her at all, he never should have held her like a delicate, fragile thing, because all it did was make her want to prove to him how strong she was by exposing all her wounds. There’s nothing more terrifying in the world than looking up into the eyes of the person that loves you and asking for more, it’s the one thing that has been proven to make you feel like you aren’t enough. 

What a grasping, begging, needing thing she turned out to be. 

And how accommodating, this person that cares so deeply he’ll scare himself in order to give her the thing she needs. 

The first time, and every time, it ends with her in his lap, whispering that everything will be alright and that she is still there, still solid and as real as him, and he kisses her desperately as if she could really disappear under his fingertips, as if what she was proving to him wasn’t that there was no other place for her in the world than beneath him, as if what she was showing him wasn’t that there was no one in the world she trusted more with her strange, sad, grasping heart. 

The first time, he says ‘yes’ when she demands because he hasn’t trained his body to say no to her yet, but she hurts like a poem and she fights like a lion and there’s a danger in that she can’t quite see but haunts his dreams. 

 

 

The first time he says no it breaks him in two, he can feel parts of his heart shattering apart inside his body, digging fresh wounds into organs that maybe he never needed anyhow. The first time he says no she’s gasping, “Harder” as if her bones were made of steel but he thinks maybe they are as hollow as a bird’s and he says no while tracing his finger across the bruise he’s already left and there are tears in his eyes. The first time he says no it’s a struggle not to reach out, crush every bone in her body just to prove to her that he could if that’s what she wanted, and her eyes are so open so wide so knowing that he feels like he’s made a confession with a single word. 

The first time he says no she can see it break him in two, can see the trails of his frustration running through his veins, shoring him up with a sharp metallic clang that echoes into the night but only she can hear. The first time he says no she’s demanding, “Harder” because she can’t feel can’t feel can’t feel and she needs to feel, needs the release, needs the pressure to ebb, and he says no while tracing his finger across her skin and she feels like she’s being electrocuted because there are tears in his eyes. The first time he says no it’s a struggle not to be harsh, not to push him past the point where she’ll be able to reach him again, not to push him all the way out of her door forever, but she’s so open and bare, laid out for him to see every single piece of her, and it should sound like a condemnation but it feels like a confession. 

The first time he says no she’s tied down and can’t leap up to hold him the way that he needs and that breaks something inside of her and so she nods because there are limits he has placed on her selfishness. 

Afterwards, he holds her in his lap as if she were a child, and she gives back the way she always gives back. He comforts her with words and deep stroking hands down her back and she takes the thing he needs to give. 

He takes the thing she needs him to take and she takes the thing he needs her to take and somewhere in there is a miracle they don’t give a name to. 

 

Afterwards, he holds her in his lap as if she could break under the strength of his hands and she melts into him to make it true for his sake. Afterwards, she leans her head against his shoulder and breathes deep as if she could break him with her need and they both pretend it isn’t true, his heart a steady rhythm in her ear, her skin a steady pressure on his skin. Afterwards, they don’t pretend they aren’t hollowed out like corpses, waiting to be filled up with sand, as if they can stand on their own and walk away unchanged; because every time they are changed and every time she kisses him more tenderly because it is worth it to be hollowed out under his gaze and every time he kisses her more softly because it is worth it to be hollowed out under her gaze and there’s a miracle in there somewhere if they don’t look too hard.


End file.
